An Axe To Grind
by Idream Awake
Summary: XOverHighlander. Knight wants to know how a killer from the past got a change of heartif the Watchers don't kill her first. PG14. copdramaromance. Language, fighting, disaproval of incest, bible verse used correctly
1. The Triple

The Triple

This fanfiction is the perfect merge of Highlander:the series(a Davis/Panzer Production.) and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Production in Canada.) Katrina MacLeod and her co-wokers are my creations only.

**Warning: **general description of a crime scene.

It was a pleasant September night; any horrible thing could happen.

Flashing patrol cars caught the apartment complex in snapshots of a prime-time blitz. Onlookers stocked the scene. Ambulances arrived, adding more strobes of suspense.

Detective Don Schanke was the proportionally stout man sporting dark sideburns, wearing a blue suit with competently Hawaiian shirt. He was scribing on his note pad, but stopped to ask, "A /triple/ homicide detective? Did I hear this correctly?"

Detective Wolly Li ran his hand through his hair. "Murder investigation is not my department. That's why you fellas are here." Li looked lean built in his black suit. He was the youngest in the Missing Person's Department.

The ambulances left the complex. Policemen wound yellow tape up the banister to second floor of apartments. The onlookers were sectioned away from the four-plex to their immediate right. Five forensic technicians in full green scrub gear trudged up the stairs with their bags.

A blond man, in his early-mid thirties wearing a western-style black coat, joined Li and Schanke. Detective Nicholas Knight had surveyed the grounds and asked Detective Li, "Where do we begin?"

"I took a girl home after a Distress Call at the 'Dug Out' sports bar. When we arrived here, I saw forced entry. I sent her back to my car." Li pointed to the parking lot to his left, behind Knight and Schanke three yards away. "Then I looked inside." The Asian detective shook his head, his expression black with disgust. A rookie, in his department got a kinder incitation of cold case filing before the fresh ones ate their souls. Li was more than likely unaccustomed to the grizzly reality that greeted him.

"You saw three bodies!" Schanke prompted Li impatiently.

"I'm sure it was three." Li answered. "The dismembered mess is in the living room just as you get in."

Schanke repeated the key word in disbelief, "Dismembered?"

"Like a 'chainsaw massacre," Li grinned with grim assuring.

Knight spoke to Detective Li. "What about the girl?"

Li was watching the parking lot. "That's my car!"

A black Ford escort was parked adjacent to Li's car. A bald man in coveralls scurried into the Ford. Li ran to the lot. Gun in hand, Li staggered to his red Lumina. Just after he looked into his back passenger window, the Ford swerved and missed the detective. Li instinctively dove over the trunk as it screeched out of the lot and into the suburb.

Schanke kicked some dirt underfoot. "I hate when they do that!"

Detective Knight stopped his partner before he left for the lot. "I'll check on Li and the girl."

Schanke insisted. "No-no. My gut tells me there's something at the sports bar. I'll pay my tab while I'm there."

Li was unshaken. He had been talking to the passenger in the back seat of his car. Before Knight reached the red Lumina, Li shooed him back to the four-plex apartment.

Knight took another glance over the residential grounds. The crowds were gone. He saw arguing forensic technicians standing on the nearest sidewalk at the bottom the stairs. Knight readjusted his usual conduct to a mode much older. Already this "chainsaw massacre" appeared to be a greater nuisance than what he was used to.

"Whoa, just a minute." Dr. Lambert, a pathologist from the Forensics Department, stepped in front of him. "This one's a doozey. I've got Rice mapping the scene right now-"

"I have a job to do, Natalie." Knight said in a hollow tone. It was awkward between them, a friendship damaged by unfulfilled expectations. Detective Knight now tried to keep their meetings in brief pleasantries.

Dr. Lambert remained determined. "Blood by the gallons, Nick. Are you sure you want to be that close?" There was taunting concern in her voice.

Knight had already picked up the scent from fifteen yards away. The smell was rank enough for even the common passersbys to discover. "I've walked through countless battlefields in my time." He warned with a husky distain. "I'm acquainted with that kind of carnage."

Natalie relented by shoving latex gloves at his stomach. "You'll need these."


	2. For The First Time Again

For the First Time Again

This fan fiction is ther perfect merge of Highlander: the series(a Davis/Panzer Production.) and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Production in Canada.) Katrina MacLeod and her co-workers are my creations only.

"The suspect's waiting to be questioned, but you should know I took these from her." A uniformed police officer ushered the homicide detectives to the evidence room. Common stolen goods and gang-related assortments were displayed in that room like a garage sale, tagged and labeled. Knight's attention, along with that of his partner, was directed to one weapon in particular. The sight blew them away.

Knight took up the sword without hesitation to evaluate its construction. The tang and hilt were traditionally bound and wrapped. Just below the hilt, the sword maker's mark of a lion- was evidently chiseled in- with Kanji scripts. These characters were used in China and other countries to the east. This had an unusual interpretation. He read 'five kami', or souls.

He ran his hand down the surface of the curved, three foot, blade. It showed conditioning and repair. He identified with its weight: it was tempered and felt solid, more than Spanish steal or Damascus blades from the Crusades. No imitation could be as strong or heavy enough to cut humans with its broad tip. Unless he was in the company of antique dealers, Knight recognized that the sword belonged in a museum.

"And this." The policeman stepped forward giving Schanke a business card. Schanke swooned, "Oh-ho gawd. Looks can kill."

Knight took the business card from his partner. "We'll let the case decide." The purple card had a high gloss front. A woman of brilliant attraction smiled charismatically in a sidelong glance. Knight read the card, 'Mercury Tech. Enterprises; International software designs and manufacturers.' The name on the card was Katrina Nagarelli, she was their Account Executive.

Schanke pointed at the card. "This woman means business. I'm also talking about the sword."

The suspect sat, a cautious left side of the table, furthest from the door. When the detectives entered the gray, nondescript- interrogation room, she stood and offered her hand as she introduced herself. Her eyes fell on Detective Knight seconds longer than on Schanke; a look of sad recognition faded her smile.

Schanke sets a tan folder on the long ash colored table between him and the woman. "Let's begin at the sport's bar.

She half glances at Detective Knight, remembered herself, and then began her story. "I got a phone call in the back office. I didn't reach it because in the hallway, was when I was attacked by some guy swinging an axe!" She swallowed, "You know, thank god for tai-bo aerobics, I'd be mince meat by now."

Nagarelli was settled in her mid-twenties in a charming ruse between girlish decadence and demure womanhood. Her fashion–forward skirtsuit tailor-fit her keen figure. Her perfume was invigorating lavender and sweet cloves. Her turquoise eyes- like of blue fire- darted with genuine fear, but she spoke with clear direction. No lingering words or false starts, almost rehearsed.

Knight spoke with frank concern. "Were you injured?"

"Once or twice, he knocked me into the wall." Nagarelli brushed her raven locks of hair aside.

Schanke bent over to look closer at her, but Nagarelli instinctively sat back.

Nagarelli spoke again with a shaky voice. "I scrambled back to the bar. The bouncers had already chased him off." She was frowning as though trying to relive those moments in her mind to be sure.

Detective Knight concentrated on her statement. She was lying. Nothing about her stable condition looked like she confronted an axe man. "No one knows how he got in or where he went?" He let his words challenge her story.

Nagarelli looked down to her lap. She did not respond.

Schanke held out her business card. He read the address on the back. "Are you from Detroit?"

"I'm here on business." Her voice was groggy. She was showing more vulnerability after Knight's last question or was it fatigue?

Schanke smirked. "So what does a ninja sword have to do with computers?" He grinned at Knight.

Nagarelli looked up at Schanke directly revived with confused offense. "I'm an alumnus to a historical-theatrical sorority." On Nagarelli's blaze lapel, Knight saw a sliver pendant of three Greek letters: Sigma Alpha Delta.

Schanke stepped back. "Whatever." He looked at his partner. Schanke wasn't convinced either, but at least the pendant checked out. They could see that.

Nagarelli spoke out of turn with budding exasperation. "My co-workers will testify that I did not use my sword against my attacker." She scoffed. "I don't need a sword to answer the phone."

Knight muttered quickly. "So it's decorative." Then quickly posed the more important question. "How well did you see your attacker?"

She retorted with ornery contempt this time, obviously chiding their suspicion. "Well enough to not know who he was." Nagarelli knew she'd answer the next question before it was asked.

Knight saw the rolling of eyes from his partner. Schanke took up the folder and left the room.

Knight excused himself and followed.

In the hall just outside the closed interrogation room door, Schanke spoke about his latest findings. "Well, that's it. She and other yuppie-Wall Street- typed are celebrating a topping off after happy hour. She gets a call in a back office- although no one can verify there was a phone call. Anyway- next the bartender hears her screaming. And someone hacking up collateral damage to the drywall. When the bouncers go look, they see a bald man in tan coveralls bolting down the back ally. That's when they called Li."

Schanke bent closer to Knight and held out his hands forming a triangle. "Now the hole impacts to the wall were spear head shaped. Witnesses say they heard some quick knocks and scrapping as if the weapon was pried loose after every blow."

"Like the sound an axe would make chopping down a wall." Knight nodded at a distant thought.

Schanke raised his brows. "None of our guys found it. Not in the ally and not in the building." Then he remembered something. "To you, could an axe be used to fillet through people like in that triple homicide?"

Detective Knight thought. "Only if the murders happened on at a time or dismemberment after each death… the bodies were cut down in single sweeps."

"Like a professional would." Schanke declared fearfully. "And we saw a guy-same tan clothes- in the parking lot?"

"Getting into a car of men in business suits." Knight continued.

"He had the same description." Schanke added. He jerked at Knight. "How could you see in that dark Ford escort?" He was about to further his inquest when another voice spoke up from behind.

"Schanke, a word."

Schanke threw Knight a look before stepping away to follow. "Yes, Captain Cohen."

Knight re-entered the interrogation room. Seeing him come in, Nagarelli sat up in the steal chair. The same sober look of disbelief came over her. They watched each other in a tense moment of silence.

Finally Knight's question broke the spell. "Tell me Katrina, do you have any idea who that man was?"

"No." She answered with a hollow voice. Then Katrina became determined, with urgent self concern. "This psycho had an axe, Nicholas. He knew how to use it and he's still out there."

Knight straighten his posture with an idea, "When you were spying for England-"

Katrina giggled through her veneer of tension, "Not this time."

With his hands in his pockets, Nicholas began sternly, "This doesn't look good."

Schanke walked in. "Let'er go Nick." The stout detective pressed his fists into the table. "Ms. Nagarelli, we'll send you to a motel so our department can watch over you. Knight and I will check on you periodically." Schanke walk out.

Knight went to follow his partner, but Nagarelli cut his path at the door. "You have some thing that belongs to me." A knowing arch of her brow intended for him alone.

"Don't worry." Knight shrugged at her intense stare. "Your escort has a gun."

Katrina was taken by a policeman, cursing as she went away.

By his desk, Knight gazed at the business card. Katrina's return caused mixed emotion to tug his mind … back to Germany; 1943.

He and Katrina were on a train rolling through the war torn European country side.

She was a film star. Barbara Lamar or Vivian Lea, Knight forgot which, but she was enchanting, nonetheless with golden hair.

Sitting on Knight's left was Lucian LaCroix. He was debated- and it was usually debating when it came to Katrina- on Errol Flynn's acting ability. "Oh come now, that's the point of the movie screen. Actors don't have to flail their bodies about for dialogue. Leave it to a twinge of the brow or quiver of our lips to tell the story."

"And how much flailing of bodies have you done with Flynn?" LaCroix's velvet voice growing smoother with intrigue.

"Not enough." She answered with flat disappointment.

"Not enough, you say. Not even for a film made in Norway?" His pale blue eyes took a severe interest in her. "Or not enough time to spend on your more secretive occupation?"

Katrina's catlike-girlish face drained of amusement. LaCroix in a French tailored suit, nodded at the swastika broach clinging to her collar.

Katrina darkened with that familiar whip of defiance. "I'll ask you nicely this time. –Please- let me go."

LaCroix's smirk sweetened with more condescension and he challenged her. "Or you'll have another firing squad waiting?" Bullets cannot rend vampire flesh, but public execution was the cleft in his immortal ego. This was the one standoff they both could prove. Nicholas was not allowed to forget it.

Both stood. The train had just arrived in Berlin.

"That depends on you, LaCroix. If you interfere, my shot won't be so kind."

This excited LaCroix and he chortled "This /is/ a side of you I've always looked forward to—"

"Here's another." Katrina turned her back on the immortals and sauntered off the train.


	3. Coffee Grind

Coffee Grind

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

"Julian!" Katrina waved a yellow post-it note to a young man in a black suit across the office floor. Julian tossed a neutral glance back at her and ducked into a walking crowd of co-workers.

"It's /your/ bill." Katrina muttered to herself with soupy resentment.

She continued to straighten her new account portfolios over a makeshift desk; two upright cardboards boxes supported by slate of plywood, held together by a sheet of tarp. Her station-of a sort- was a free standing island at entrance of the administrative wing. In front of her was an open two level, indoor plaza. Most of the walls, of the old hospital, were taken down to expand the flow of walking traffic. An odd mix of flannels and denims of the working crew and the wool polyesters of her staff moved in casual harmony. Hammers and drills; flip phones and fax machines occupied every listening space cluttered here and there with chatter and swearing.

"Nagarelli." A middle-aged man in a gray suit had walked up to Katrina's island.

She greeted with a sunny smile. "Hi, Clarence. Good to see you Canadian side."

More co-workers joined Clarence. "We're pulling for you, kid."

"Don't give up on Toronto," another said.

Clearance sat a peachy bouquet of carnations and roses in a bowl-sized coffee mug on her desk. "Mugged" stood out in bold black lettering across one side. Clearance gestured at the bouquet with awkward encouragement, "The flouriest down the street has a discrete specialty just for your dilemma."

Katrina laughed fiendishly, suppressing a cackle at her own expense. Her, delicately put, 'dilemma' surpassed any mugging by one distinct purpose. Remington, her secretary, filled her in on the gossip floating around about the three murdered shareholders. The attack at the bar was everyone's topic and suspicion. Her most supportive staff could only placate her with a flowery coffee bowl.

Clearance was urged to indicate the large tag on the handle. "Oh! And 'Mugged' comes with a 50 off coupon to Dr. Fu's Kenpo Karate Clinic."

Katrina gasped. She laughed again, this time insulted at their naive comfort and the commercialism of a crime victim twinge in her stomach.

"Oh, my gawd!" She mocked. "This is so-o-o cute! Thanks guys." It was cute, she had to admit.

A petite woman stood to one side of Katrina's desk after the bouquet presentation. The woman made steady, but blunt, eye contact as she approached. The woman dropped the manila folders, filled with the business-to business ad proposals, on Kat's desk. The woman then promptly turned on her heels and left post haste.

"C-Carla? Carla!... Great!"


	4. The Jade Eye

The Jade Eye

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

The Jade Eye dance studio was located in central Toronto with three over flowing dance floors. The twenty-one and under crowd, raved with spirited competition. On the center dance floor, gamers in circular pens controlled virtual demons and warriors on a 5X5 viewer screen; the main attraction with all the accessories of high definition graphics and thundering club riffs.

Winner! The crowd roared and whistled!

A single shout of congratulations sounded over the speakers. Introduced by a herold of techno fanfare, Katrina Nagarelli walked on to the gaming platform, a small earpiece- and microphone attached to her ear.

Mindful of the girl's tiara, Katrina extended her arm around the teen's shoulders. A TV camera slid over to their position. "That was a fine match, Princess Teacup!" The teen bowed briefly, uttering thanks with flushing cheeks.

Katrina spoke again in Japanese to the camera, "Toronto's own tackled the final round- best two out of three." Katrina glance to her left, "Well, played, Captain Peachfuzz, but it's ladies night at the Jade Eye- And listen up folks! There's a sale on peach smoothies at the bar!"

A chorus of "yahoo!" sounded from the crowd. Captain Peachfuzz stood in the opposite gaming pen wearing a British colonial/ punker ensemble and folded his arms - blushing with a hard grin.

Katrina playfully wrinkled her nose at the crowd to her far right. "What did she win, Darth Vader?"

The camera panned to the disk jockey wearing a black cape and a like replica helmet. The D.J.'s alcove was rimmed with break-dancing storm troopers. Darth Vader wheezed and droned his reply, and the lacy Princess Teacup skipped off with a college grant taped to a new game system.

The camera panned back to Katrina Nagarelli. Speaking again in Japanese, Nagarelli told her television audience, "'Digit Titan' game masters face off in Tokyo. More news up next."

Katrina scanned the crowd. Among the children, she recognized Nicholas and his detective partner; they'd been watching her show by the smoother bar. Katrina met with Nicholas' gaze, and he sent her a fetching nod the made her heart skip in response.

Katrina was given an over-sized TV remote. The 5X5 viewer screen switched through channels of commercials and programs.- Godzilla roaring with Hershey's chocolate dripping from his spiky jaws. – Sesame Street's Oscar the Crouch had Barney in a head lock – Mercury Tech. logo in CGI graphics and head banger riffs. – Yowling bare-chested monk dive at each other, a gong clashed, a traditionally dressed samurai warlord stomps through the shrine. The monks gasp. - Channels moved on. - "If you can turn a door knob, you can turn the 'Pan Fryer.' But wait!" – The viewer screen switched back to the samurai warlord. He had his own oversized remote aimed at the audience. With 70' style 'ah-oh' fanfare, the villain made a hearty introduction and cackled, "Ah-ha-ha-ho- How are my Canadian friends?"

"Oh! Lord Tae Bo, greetings." Katrina started, sounding caught off guard at first, but beginning to match the samurai's boldness. "I'm Katrina Nagarelli of Toronto—"

"Ooooh, aren't we a feisty girl, Cat Ringer," the warlord cooed.

"That's Ka-trin-a!" she snapped in halting syllables.

"Track-rail-or…" Tae Bo uttered in flat tones, now timid after his failed attempt.

Katrina stuck out her tongue while shaking her head in cross-eyed surrender. "Whatever- Look. I know it's lunch hour in Tokyo right now, but could you honor us with the overview of your tournament's events?"

The warlord's bulking armor expanded further with pride. "First I test their feats of strength with a simple 'finding a hay straw in a needle stack' game… Then with an elite few left" – The TV flashed Lord Tae Bo commanding a horde of Sasquatch creatures to ambush a huddled group of teenagers.—"my gamers compete in vats of boiling school cafeteria leftovers. Which is more impressive than the pens you've arranged Lady Car Trainer." The extreme close-up had the camera all but staring up flaring nostrils as he turned his nose in haughty contempt.

"Uh- thanks," she replied as she shrank back in surprised disgust.

Lord Tae Bo continued. "Our reigning champion is Orri Seiko of Haiku, Okinawa." The screen cap of a teenage gamer caught at a slanted camera angle appeared briefly on the screen. The boy looked like a god/superhero in tie-die spandex. "The looser, Cosmo Nokumura of Kyoto will be drop-kicked to Euro-Disney Land in a Barney suit… Did you ask about my singing voice?"

"No…"

"When I'm not commanding my boogie men, and dressed as fashionably as this. I campaign for our future—Roll film!" In Japanese trash rap style, Bo idealized his world dominance and juvenile moral corruption, at higher after- school wages—"And I don't like Star Wars." Gradually, Lord Tae Bo's speech started stuttering and skipping out of sequence. Then the scene melted in a projector-style mishap. The TV displayed a standby- screen: The Mercury Tech. logo with orchestrated easy listening music.

Katrina Nagarelli turned to the Canadian youngsters, muttering in a bubbly twang, "All… right…That was Mercury Tech. Enterprise's: Digit Titans, Tournament of Champions. B'bye, now and 'May the Force be with you.'"

The crowed cheered.

Katrina walked off the platform as techno- spin music sounded off the show and returned The Jade Eye' to its dance club function.

She joined the detectives at the railed entrance when they left the bar. Her eyes gleamed with jade contacts against the darkened pallet of eye shadowing.

Nicholas greeted her jokingly, "Great show, Lady Cat Trainer."

Katrina did a double take at Nicholas.

Detective Don Schanke cut in ruefully with insight to Nicholas Knight, "Guys at the precinct could use this taping for working with the Asian kids."

Katrina huffs at both, "Ho- yah! I'd love to hear Canadian cops stutter in Japanese!"

Schanke coughed and grinned cautiously at Nicholas. "Ms. Nagarelli, we have more questions."

Nicholas smiled at Katrina and remained casual. "Is there a quiet table some where we can talk?"

Schanke agreed while reaching into his pocket. "If you don't mind the campy Vader ante rage is distracting me." He didn't wait for Katrina to respond. Schanke glanced at his pager then moaned in aggravation. "Okay Nick I'm need cross town."

Nicholas replied with mocking sympathy. "Send my regards to the dungeon."

"Yah, yah." Schanke chided back as he left.

"Nick is it?" Katrina said to Nicholas as laughter played in her eyes. "Follow me." They weaved left near the entrance.


	5. Better the Devil You Know

Better the Devil You Know

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warnings: **Language. The Game is explained here.

Katrina led Nicholas past the jumping crowd. Green and purple lazar lights shot back and forth on mirrored walls and ceilings through out the fervent darkness. The music was electronic. A metallic-like rhythm spilled over a whispered voice issuing a disturbing monologue about thrill obsession and genocide.

They threaded through the courtiers of lacy princesses, and pirates or cartoon characters and warrior, all writhing to the same beat in a clash of color and theme.

She led Nicholas into a crowded hallway; occasionally, looking back at him to make sure he followed close behind. Katrina's furtive smile, seem to ask what he thought of her strange new world.

Down the hall on the right were doors marked "studio A, B," and "C" and so on for five more doors. They entered "Studio" room "B", the door with a green light button. Once inside, the room smelled of cigarette smoke and stale perfume. It was set up with large p'leather benches, like the beige interior of a 76' Mustang. The inlayed table, in the middle of the small lounge, had smooth carved holes near the edge.

Katrina looked around. To her left, a wide screen TV ran though images of anime characters each with green eyes. Each sequence would end with the "Jade Eye Karaoke" screen saver.

Nicholas was also watching the screen, but remembered himself and announces to Katrina, "I had your sword carbon-dated."

"You didn't!" she thundered.

He sat on the bench nearest to the door. "Not really…" he said with a wry grin. "It's a work of art, I can see that. Is it a samurai's diasho?"

Katrina sneered at his 20th century joke, and caught on to his playful prod at her habit of always carrying a sword. With smooth pride, she informed her old friend about her sword. "My teacher, Yagyu Muneyoshi gave me that katana three hundred years ago- before he was martyred." Nicholas listened with sincere interest. "My katana was a Kami, temple guardian sword, with at least two generations of Bushido before that. It was truly an honor."

Nicholas motioned across the inlayed table for Katrina to join him.

She stood. She wondered if Nicholas understood what she meant by having such a possession.

"I need answers, Katrina." His patience was running out. "And like it or not, there's no one else here who can help you."

"That goes without saying, Nick." Katrina retorted with an impertinent tone. She sat on the bench opposite of the low table with one last remark to justify herself. "I don't like being without it."

"Who were the three people living with you?" The firmness in Nicholas' voice let her know that he was finished humoring her. The investigation had begun.

"They were small time CEOs of computer-gaming software organizations. Garage companies really… Joan Clark, Chuck Neighbors, and Garry Connelly. They had stock in Mercury Tech. Enterprises. We were merging them under our sponsorship, which in turn would expand us into Canada."

Nicholas offered the assumption. "So their deaths were an inconvenience."

"We're an honest company." Katrina scoffed as insult mixed with her scowl. "They were great clients with a lot of potential. This incident could very well damage our good reputation."

"Then tell me," Nicholas brought out a manila envelope from his black trench coat. "Do you know this man?" He showed her a black-and-white mug shot of a strange looking man.

"No." Katrina answered, obvious and to the point.

Nicholas held out another picture. This one showing five men standing with the suspect all posing in black-tie suits.

Katrina studied it and looked back at the mug shot. Her expression lightened with recognition. "He shaved his head, but this is the one who attacked me the other night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Nicholas paused for a moment. Katrina knew by the look on his face there was more imposing news. "What about this one?" He asked. The next photo was a close-up of a tattoo in deep black ink across on the inside of a man's wrist, focusing on the design of a curvy-shaped "V" in a circle.

Katrina took the picture from him. Her jade colored eyes flashed with worry. Then she slid the photo back at Nicholas.

"Do you recognize this marking?" Nicholas asked with poignant concern.

Katrina looked left at the glass door microphone cabinet. "Son of a bitch." She snapped.

The sudden foul language made him blink. "That's a yes? Katrina, we found this man's body at a shipping yard last night. His head was separated from his body in one clean stroke. We haven't found the weapon."

"Oh fuck me! - a sword?" She groaned knowing the answer. It annoyed her how Nicholas was hinting at his own verdict.

"If you please, Katrina." He said with a resolutute tone, astonished by her offensive outbursts.

Katrina bent in and simmered in a low voice. "For the past three days, I've either been working or sleeping- I've got alibis for that."

"I know, Katrina." He looked convinced. "Now what's going on?" But Nicholas was also apprehensive.

"First of all Nicola de Brabant," she punctuated his original name to emphasized they're long familiarity together, and disbanding his suspicion of her once and for all. "Me taking my katana to a nameless brute, is liken to any soldier loading his M-16 with diamonds and popping off a field mouse!"

"Secondly…" Katrina released her scolding glare on him. "About that tattoo photo…" She glanced around the lounge to gather her words more carefully. "I've seen that marking before." Her voice: firm again. "They attacked me and my husband at our farm in Quebec just after Lincoln's war. In New England, some time in the war of 1812, another tried to decapitate me while I nursed wounded soldiers. The ones with the mark always knew my origin—my true name, and things about me mortals couldn't possibly comprehend."

Katrina shifted in the bench and glanced around. She woke up to a new conclusion. "They're doing it again."

"I don't understand." Nicholas shook his head. "You're making them sound like they're some kind of vampire hunters."

"Maybe they are—hunters that is." She brushed aside her raven wisps edged with green. She took a breath and thought about the pseudo-Van-Halsing types, decapitators with a common tattoo.

Nicholas broke her cycle of thought with another question. "You never explained to me how your kind came to be."

Katrina didn't miss a beat. "Considering the chaos every time we meet, there was never any time," She muttered. She didn't want to explain what would only spur more questions, but the question was centuries overdue.

"No one knows. We are born, we live, we love, and we age. But if at any point we die, we become immortal and fight each other in an invisible war the crosses all time…That, too, is simple. We only fight one on one--no one interferes. We never fight on holy ground. We fight to survive. For us permanent death is by decapitation. With each fight, the victor gains a power essences from the loser, called the Quickening. This is how it has always been and always will be… until there is only one left. The single ultimate warrior will receive the ultimate reward: The Prize. None of us knows what exactly. Perhaps it's mortality, or oneness with all living things… or the power to rule the human race for the rest of eternity."

Nicholas raised his brow at that last statement. Katrina anticipated it. "Why?" He seemed to sneer.

Katrina grunted in sudden exasperation. "Why! There is no 'why'. We are born. We die. We kill or be killed! It's been this way since… Methuselah." She smoothed her hand down her silver pants, in a final attempt to compose herself. "There was never a reason, just survival."

Nicholas collected the pictures back into the envelope then rose with a brooding stare. His expression clearly stating his dissatisfaction with her explanation.

Katrina spoke insistently as she stood. "How will the Toronto police deal with these tattooed hunters?"

"Let me worry about that."

"Now what?" She grumbled out loud to herself. It was difficult to remember which came first, the hunters attack and vanish, or her plans to move on before or after their attack. She didn't enjoy the thought of police involvement making her life a public affair. Not to mention, she loved this job and still had five years left of this life. To Katrina /this/ was the inconvenience. But how could Karma explain that Nicholas, of all people, was investigating this mess. He alone could sympathize with the real concern of being exposed for what she was- is. He was right. He knew her well enough- or he should anyway.

Katrina sighed, rubbing the nape of her neck with a weak smile. "It's good to see you again." Her half attempt at gratitude.

Nicholas smiled at her appreciating the kindly gesture she had finally awarded him. "Likewise." He said.


	6. Big Surprise

Big Surprise!

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warning:** Graphic fight scene. Katrina (?) lives in Seacouver!

The fifteen-dollar lunch had a salty/soapy after taste. And the ice tea was over boiled.

The Tower Heights Club was a four star restaurant set on a terrace in a vast enclosed courtyard. Hotel room walkways circled the courtyard each going up twelve floors to a frosted glass ceiling. Below and down from the terrace, was a carpeted lobby with dark green upholstered furniture.

At the edge of the dining terrace, separating it from the lobby, were leafy ferns and a babbling fountain. Its chlorine scented gallons splashed over stair stepping boulders down to a reflecting pool. Every table in the small restaurant was occupied, but the rushing water and enormous space of the courtyard, provided a quiet and comfortable atmosphere for her lunch meeting.

Katrina's boss, Clearance, addressed the table. "Our show, Monday night, was copied to the new Digit Titan expansion pack. It will be shipped out by Halloween."

"I know." Georgiou was Chuck Neighbors' vice-chair and presently reported. "The manufacturing will be slow going now."

The others at the table fell silent. All felt the weighing burden of bad publicity after the murders four days ago.

Clarence nodded to Katrina. "How's our campaign in Seacouver?"

"Splendid. Fort Drum wants us to update their tank course program and field reconnaissance simulations."

Clarence tapped his finger on the dinning table as he cautioned to say, "I'd like you to switch and represent that program."

Katrina bit her lip.

"You have a cousin in Seacouver, right?"

"Ex-husband."

"You don't always have to go alone." Clarence suggested as he would speak to his own grandchild. "But taking the job there is in your best interest right now… Katrina?"

A flush of electricity went up her spine and through out her body. The Quickening of another immortal was near. She looked around at the dining tables until her eyes meet a dark haired- green eye man at the wet bar three tables behind hers. Katrina identified herself with a nod. He nodded back without expression.

The immortal motioned to a waiter who proudly carried a long rectangular box to her table. When it arrived, her coworkers bent in to look.

Inside were roses of the deepest red, almost black in color, with thorns still intact down the lengths of their long stems.

"Katrina?" Georgiou didn't care about her special attention.

Katrina held a small card and glanced back to the man at the bar. He was watching intently and nodded again for her to continue. The handwritten note read, 'My Lady Davalen meet with destiny at the St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church: 6 pm', and an address followed. It was signed, 'Ya Chyorny Sabaka'. Katrina looked over again at the bar. By the time he was gone, she recognized him with a haunting pang that chilled her blood. She hadn't seen him for hundreds of years.

Clarence cleared his throat politely and asked, "Katrina what is it?"

Katrina considered the note's true invitation as a creative way to meet on holy ground. "An admirer," she sighed to dismiss her coworkers' curiosity.

Before the entrance to the dinning terrace were corridors of conference halls and restrooms.

Katrina walked out of the ladies restroom. The September afternoon sun glared on the polished marble corridor. It was empty and she was certain that she exited the wrong way. She went back to the door she came out of. It was locked behind her.

The air smelled of Pine-sol and plaster as she walked around the corner to find the dining terrace again. Up ahead three men in suits stood in front of an elevator door. As Katrina approached, one man lit up in recognition. He nudged the other two and spoke out to her. "Going down, ma'am?"

She answered flatly, "No thanks."

They looked at her sternly. This was wrong. 'Who are these men?'

They started gating for her. "How about that merger, Katrina?" She wasn't wearing a name tag, so how did they know her name?

Katrina expected the next turn to lead back into the dinning terrace. It didn't.

She was back at the locked restroom door. The nearest man stomped for Katrina's abdomen. His heel was kneed upward. He stumbled back. She yanked the others by their throats, off the marble and collided their heads before throwing them across the corridor.

One of them groaned, "You're the evil one of the batch! Come and bring it on!"

An unmistakable sound followed. Three rounds shot through her clothes. Glass vases shattered down the corridor.

She startled back at the men.

"She's still up!" The grey haired one screamed while glancing at his .38 with a barold silencer.

"She's just a freak!" yelled the brunet who was instigating the attack.

Brunet charges a stun wand. Blondie brought out an axe.

Katrina scoffs, "Ho! Big Surprise!"

The stunner drove at her. Katrina took that wrist, twisting it up, and jabbed the instrument into his spine. As the blade grazed down her skull, she grabbed the axe handle, turned and jutted it into blonde's throat with a crushing force.

She twirled the axe with a turn of her wrist. The third man lost his hand holding the .38. Blood flowed into her left eye. Katrina turned with the weight of the axe blade to his neck.

BANG!

A .45 blast stops Katrina from decapitating the grey haired.

"Put your weapons on the ground NOW!" Commanded an Asian man. His .45 aimed about trying to decide on a target: man with the stun wand in his back convulsing unconsciously. Another gripping his throat thrashed his body at her feet. The third over taken by shock and fell to the floor.

The man with the .45 waved his hand at Katrina to comply.

Katrina put down the axe.

"I'm Detective Wolly Li. I took you home Friday night. Remember?"

"I remember," Katrina answered. She stood her ground until she remembered her alleged disposition.

Security cops in brown dragged the attackers away.

Detective Li walked carefully to Katrina then asked, "Who were those men?"

Katrina winced and thought, her skull was painfully fusing itself. "They were with the axe freak. They tried to kill me." She wavered on her feet then pretended to faint.

The 97th Metro was a large building on the corner of two major Toronto boulevards. The Roman columns and tempests would better suit a city hall or a library than a police station.

Katrina was ushered to a dark cop's lounge. Li looked dreadfully confused, "Rest here while I send someone in."

She laid on a cushioned recliner. For once in a long time it was quiet. "I'm screwed."

The door slid open on its hydraulic joints. A woman walked in as she commented to someone outside, "What do you mean 'this one's alive?' I'm not /that kind/ of doctor." She rolled a medial tray with her.

She had long, spiraled brown hair. She was young and had round concerned eyes.

Katrina looked back at the girl. "I told you I don't need a medic."

"I'm Doctor Natalie Lambert, and you can tell your lawyer I had the moxi to treat you anyway."

Katrina curled her lip at the girl doctor's defiant dissention.

Lambert pointed at Katrina's red splattered chest. "You were shot!"

When one of her attackers lost his hand, he raised it up to look at his severed- unfortunately tattooed wrist. "Nose bleed." Katrina replied nonchalantly.

Lambert unrolled a ball of gauze. "Your head's bleeding-" She muttered, but Katrina cut her off.

"It was a marble floor I fainted on."

Lambert tossed down a pair of scissors on the medic try with a clatter. "I won't give you a phone till you're cleaned up."

Katrina pasted a sarcastic smile, "Do you take paper or plastic?"


	7. All Soul's Night

All Soul's Night

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warning:** Leering/flirting. (In my universe Connor Macleod is 300 older than in the movies.)

Katrina was awakened by the tender tracing of cool fingers through her hair. She opened her eyes as Nicholas' hand brushed her cheek. "Welcome back." He said to her.

Katrina then realized she must have dozed off on the overstuffed recliner in the cop's lounge. She sat up abruptly. "What time is it?"

"Early. I got a call that you were rushed over here. Are you okay, Kat?"

Katrina quickly looked around. No wall clock. And someone had put a green wool blanket over her. Her pet name sounded odd to her coming from Nicholas.

Nicholas sat on the arm of the closest recliner. His blue eyes held a glimmer she had not seen for… decades. Katrina smiled at the boyish gleam that played with his genuine concern. "I've had better days," she answered his question. She was getting more familiar with his updated appearance and decided that any decade or century agreed with him without fault. Nicholas was the sole reason why she still had a weakness for blond men. And all along it was Nicholas' dramatic, Euro-Scandinavian features that always wooed the good girl in her while enticing the bad.

Katrina thought back to the first time they met, back to some of her earliest memories, back to Ireland.

There was much dancing around the high bon fires. Clansmen and friends weaved hand in hand with her. Flutes and drums and harps were lilting their rousing tunes. Together they'd sung, "…beckoning all from shadow and light, on this solstice night."

The firers were hot, the air was crisp and the piney scent of burning wicker men can not be washed by time, or the taste of harvest food and dizzy laughter, such laughter.

Then she saw him: the green knight. His was that solid presence watching her all night. His hungry stare was fixed on her, as though he knew what she looked like without her frock.

Without effort or understanding how, Katrina was standing close to him then. His words were foreign.

Katrina let the visions come to her mind's eye: He had an old soul, and he would live a long life. In foresight, she could see herself speaking the same language with this man. Her next lives would mingle with his. Katrina felt a profound connection with him, and was not ashamed of it. Deeper, she saw the sun! It was surrounded by a sinister darkness. But the darkness could not extinguish the sun, neither could the sun radiate without the night. Their power was intense, distinct yet mutual, coexisting in a paradoxical spirit force. She desired to merge with him body and mind.

A pensive smile rose within him. It reflected a sage awareness with her. He was no ordinary man. Perhaps he too was a seer.

'Come with me'- she felt.

'Yes'- her mind answered- 'take me with you…No, I'm not afraid.'

"Katrina?" Nicholas spoke in the present.

Her mind lingered few seconds more, questioning on what if Nicholas /had/ brought her across. Even if it was just to satisfy the carnal throbs of stomach she'd survive.

"Katrina," Nicholas spoke again. "We have a man in custody with the same type of tattoo. This one lost a limb."

Katrina recognized Nicholas' inaccurate statement to get her to correct him and revile her motive in the case. It wouldn't take another detective to know that, just careful common-scence spent on centuries of out-maneuvering.

"Yes," she perked, "There's more," Knowing that her eyes must be sparkling with girly charm.

"What is it?" Nicholas asked. Her ruse succeeded.

"I'll tell you on the way to church."


	8. Holy Ground

Holy Ground

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warning:**1 cuss word. The Deacan in this chapter wasn't injured. There is no scorn intended toward the Christian community.

With a quick change to clean-bloodless- clothes, Katrina stepped into St. Andrew's large domain; Toronto's nineteenth century cathedral.

The stone walls invited her into a cool, isolated world where the air smelled of pine and old masonry. Long banners made of felt and bright ribbons hung from the wooden archways. They each bestowed a token phrase from scripture; 'faith, charity' and 'longsuffering'.

Holy ground. Whispering parishioners, some in prayer, hunched in various pews. Panic settled in her stomach with the conflicting solitude of the church. This was a hallowed place.

The Quickening of another immortal grew as Katrina walked past the stone slabs of entrance way. To her right, on the edge of the furthest row of pews, was the immortal standing by a table of lit candles.

The dark haired, green-eyed man walked to a pew and leaned over it with white knuckled fists. Katrina recognized him then in the candle light she was traditionally accustomed to. And why not, Katrina hadn't seen him for ages, before electric lighting.

With the fire light and his vexing, anguished glare, Katrina knew why this man bothered her so. Instantly her mind was flooded with the far off memory of Russia. He was once a farmer from the Steppes. But what mattered then was how his settlement blocked her path to the eastern tundra. He was nothing, his people where nothing.

"Lady Davalen, you're late." he said with a slight bow. His words still snapped with a Russian accent.

"Those men with the tattoo," Katrina held out her wrists to illustrate her own statement to revile him, "They won't bother me anymore."

"The Watchers!" He spat. "They die like us. Flowers in the field or scum in ship yards." His face contorted with disgust, just as it did while he was her slave after the second raid. 'Chyorny Sabaka'- 'My black dog.' She remembered with fond regret.

"It's been a long time, Juri." Katrina spoke confirming caution, to put a distance between them.

"Too long," Then he shoved his accusing finger at her, "And you're a tricky one to find."

"What do you want?" Katrina keeping guarded pleasantries intacked.

"Your head, of course." Juri said with a toothy grin.

Why, she thought. Her black dog joined her ranks, and rode in the carnage by her side. He was a lusty fighter. He was her only friend. Katrina put her hands on her hips. "Five hundred years is a long time for a mood swing. This Lady Davalen you want is dead and gone--"

Juri cut in. "And yet here you are, unfit to breathe in front of me…I never forgave you for that!"

"Butchery was my playground.—Look, Juri, I grew up! There's no forgiveness for what I did. But I can help you move one."

"No more lessons!" Juri erupted, his voice echoing around the church. He took a hymnal from the nearest pew and threw it at table of candles. "How dare you play God and wash your hands of me!" he hissed, and continued, "Only /I/will send you to Hell!... His posture hardened. "You come to Pier 9 at the Wilson's tool factory, by 10pm.-- Be late again" he bit "and you can be sure I'll slice through more friends, including that blond pet of your outside." With that said, Juri stormed out of the church nearly knocking a deacon off his feet.


	9. Higher Karma

Higher Karma

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warning: **Katrina's foul mouth/Language. Incest is spoken of, but no detail, just the idea that (?) was violated by (?).

Katrina got into Nicholas' Cadillac convertible and flopped down in the passenger seat.

"Was that him?" Nicholas asked with punctuated curiosity. "Was that Juri Damir?"

"Yes," she answered, now looking away in a distant frown. Katrina shifted in her seat and watched St. Andrew's sink back into the city block.

"What does he want?" He questioned further then demanded, "Talk to me."

"He didn't send those tattooed jerks— 'The Watchers'-- he called them." Katrina had begun in a pessimistic tone, but improved with the new information. "He killed the one you found at the shipping yard."

"And the shareholders?" Katrina saw his mind at work as he arrived to the next conclusion.

"Also Juri's doing."

Much like her town of Detroit; Toronto was an active cluster of the esthetic and metropolitan. The city lights streaked by, changing from the solemn blue around the church to the orange and florescent glare of commercial boulevards and street lights.

Katrina thought of Juri shoving his way through the innocent crowds lashing out to anyone connected to her.

"He'll come for you too, Nick." She informed him.

Nicholas' eyes darted sternly at her as the car made a left turn. "Is that what he said?"

"If I don't speak to him again. Yes." Melancholy fogged over her mind. 'Why did Juri bother with Holy Ground just to challenge me? There was more he should've said.' The pang of regret stung again. By her hands, she delivered Juri into the Game: her slave, her student, her child. Missing for five centuries and /now/it was time to collect? 'No Juri. Not good enough.'

Three blocks from the church was a younger, however neglected part of the city. Fewer street lights marked the way. Dull brick- turn of the twentieth century- buildings lined the street. At one dark industrial looking complex, Nicholas turned left into a wide cluttered ally, passing garage doors. He grabbed a remote from between the seats as the Cadillac made another left turn. A garage door opened upward.

"Where are we?" Till then, Katrina vaguely took in the rout of the car ride. She expected to be back at the little motel.

"My place." He answered. "You're in my protective custody now."

Once parked in his garage, Nicholas stepped out of the Cadillac as second plans sped his movements. "This has gone too quickly out of hand and-" He turned back.

Katrina stood at the passenger side door, her arms folded over the canvas hood. "He's immortal." She curtly reminded him. "This is out of your jurisdiction- detective." Her turquoise eyes smoldered even in the dim garage.

Nicholas looked away and bit into a scowl. That comment offended him. "I know what you're doing, Katrina. I've played those games too." He made it known. "This is my job, and I can be just as stubborn as you."

Nicholas was firmly resolved in what he said. Katrina decided not to challenge his warning glares. There was a stalemate of joined silence as they rode the garage elevator up to his home.

Katrina walked in first. Just after stepping down into the main living area, Katrina saw Nicholas walk over and take up a remote from a side table.

A unique mixture of scents greeted her. The air was cool and dry and smelled of Nicholas' Ralf Loren's Polo musk. But a sharp sent of acrylic and the smoky taste of wood fire and candle wax lingered.

Electronically activated window shades lifted open. Large pane glass windows to her left along the outer wall let in the twinkling Toronto city-scape.

He lived in an open two level loft. The space was in concert with leisure function and urban attitude. It was a collaboration of old structure with brick walls, and concrete floor. A black baby grand piano, with a dripping candelabra, stood in the center living space on a red afghan.

The modern accents were the red iron railing up the stairs and along the private rooms' walkway. There was a modestly sized black and white kitchen to her close left. The black leather furniture complimented both past and present design.

Behind and to her immediately right, stood a '47 vintage Harley Davidson. She chuckled softly as it reminded her of her '82 Heritage Soft Tail' Harley at home.

After the Harley, a polished iron table at hip height. On it was a busy clutter of paints, brushes, papers with sketches, unfinished ceramics, stencils and multicolored clothes crumpled and tossed aside. This was the source of the acrylic smells.

Katrina ran her hand along the top of the leather couch and on the coffee table where the Tibetan Eternity masks were displayed. She touched the wood carved dragon on the mantel over the fire place. It was fine work, smooth like marble. Life like, the dragon appeared it was able to slither off the mantle to greet or attack.

She looked behind her to the right side of the loft. Under the flight of stairs was an alcove. "So when did you start painting?" Katrina asked in mused curiosity.

"I studied under Hieronymous Bosch himself." There was pride in his voice.

She saw paintings of people resembling the methods of Bosch and early Picasso. There were moons, and dark-angry abstracts almost unique to each other in mood, but mastered by the same hand in chalks, oils, or coals. Most were paintings of… the sun, in different medias, styles and techniques. Katrina saw a sun theme almost every where, in brass, or clay fixtures too, positioned like ornaments around the loft.

One painting casually sat up on the floor, caught her eye. Katrina respectfully lift the tarp that covered half way. On a 2X5 deep orange canvas, a giant sunflower burst in full bloom. Or so she thought at first. The flower had no seed disk. It was open. The sunflower petals fanned out in a solar array of fair golds, yellows, peach, and rouge. Fire. And closer still, the petals were actually feathers, but no, just painted to look the texture.

All others paled in comparison to /this/ painting. It was fertile and soaring. It's inviting warmth encourage her. There was no mourning, or resentment there. Nicholas captured the life source and friendly poetry of the sun…

Katrina sighed out loud. "Oh bless me… Nicholas, this is beyond anything I can describe."

Nicholas walked behind her. The look on his face was so sober, that Katrina straightened and left her smile. "I need to know, Katrina." It was the underlying expression he had since they talked at the dance studio lounge. "During the American Civil War you were different."

"What do you mean? We've know each other off and on after that." Katrina felt another interrogation coming on.

"Over three hundred years before that…in France… when we found you-"

"Oh no Nicholas, don't you dare!" Katrina had almost forgotten her fresh confrontation with Juri earlier. She wanted more time to think about dealing with him, not some awkward adolescence from hell. She put her hands on her hips. "I was pretty fucked up back then. I don't kill like that anymore, damn you!"

"Enough, Katrina!" Nicholas watched her for a moment, then He whispered when the angst has passed. "What happened?"

"Fuck you!" she snapped. She strode for the door, but Nicholas blocked her path.

"No you don't! Not now! Not again!" He reached for her, touched her arm, then he lead her to a couch. "Between 1500 and 1860, you became more…"

"Human?" she knew what he was leading to. It is now wonder he was out of syncopation with her. All Nicholas knew was that first she was stacking broken bodies like firewood and the next in 1863 nursing soldiers and sheltering slaves.

"In a word, yes. I want to know." He wasn't going to beg it was in his voice, because she refused to look at him. Katrina realized the genuine curiosity. Nicholas had validated trepidation that needed an explanation and more convincing from a long time friend. It was time for another connection that seemed so long ago.

Katrina sunk back on the couch. "It was because of the worst betrayal of my life." She took a cleansing breath before she began her story. "After leaving La Croix, I was still empowered by rage. I traveled to Russia where I found 'The Kurgan."

"The Kurgan." The title confused him.

"The Kurgan was the strongest of all the immortals, the perfect warrior, and those who met him didn't live long enough to regret it… We were like a two edged sword. No one could stop us…" Her words drifted back in time. "Their screams- they sounded like bleating sheep in the slaughter."

Nicholas touched her hand, gently prompting her to continue.

Katrina had to continue now. "He-Viktor- was my mate." She stated with doomed conviction. "He, who worshiped the ram's head, years before we met, made a pact with his god. V…Viktor was promised two offspring, one immortal and one not. After the death of his son, her performed the ritual again in the Highlands of Scotland, then raped a woman there."

Katrina stood suddenly with a sob, her arms clung around herself, "His dark god would not be trifled with and cursed Viktor with-"Katrina's eyes met with Nicholas'- "a daughter."

Nicholas straightened from his couch in stark revelation. Now more than ever he seemed convinced then, as she imagined the color from his face drain away. His eyes glazed with shock. Was it the dark magic she showed him centuries before, that finally connected his belief. 'Conceived by sorcery,' he whispered more to his own amazement. How could she conjure her dignity now?

Katrina tore away once again, her hand on her mouth, stifling a cry as if slapped by her own blasphemy.

"Oh God!" Nicholas found his voice. "I never knew." He babbled. Then he stood and slowly put his arms around her shoulders. Katrina turned, allowing herself to be pulled into a full embrace. His cool and conditioned body was warmed by hers.

She swore up at the skylight above them. "When I found out, that was the end of it!" Sob. "I ran… I ran like hell!" She was crying in breathy sob as Nicholas held onto her.

"Uh-hmm!"

Nicholas looked up. The outside stairwell door was open. Dr. Lambert and his partner had let themselves in. Schanke bore an imposing smirk.

Katrina saw Nicholas frown at his partner then retuned to her. He held her hands and led her to the piano. Katrina remembered herself. She suddenly felt dizzy with fear. "No-no-no, what have I done? If LaCroix finds out I'd-"

Nicholas wiped her blood tears with his fingers speaking boldly to focus her, "It's okay- it's okay- listen to me, Katrina. It's all right." Their eyes met. "No one's going to know about this. No one." She watched him meekly in small faith. His expression crushed with sorrow and desperation. "Don't push me away. Don't spare me, trust me."

Nicholas drew Katrina to him—

"Nick!"

Schanke intervened. Sheltering a witness was procedure- kissing them was not.


	10. If It's Death He Want's

If It's Death He Want's

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warning:**Graphic: when the detectives **return **to the interrogation room, beware of brief, but gory sight. Language. Watcher guy's bandaged injury.

"We searched your motel room." Detective Schanke limped around the table in the interrogation room. His left leg, thigh to ankle, was in a cast. His left arm in sling. Schanke continued. "We found a lot of pictures of your girlfriend- and some creepy memorabilia." He slapped down various photos. They were all candid shots of Katrina Nagarelli. Lastly, Schanke tossed a small handwritten notebook on the pile. On the cover of the notebook it showed the all too familiar tattoo design of curvy "V" within a circle.

The man sneered with clinched teeth as, no doubt, he was in pain. The gray haired man looked haggard. By name he was Dill Diffendefer, and had as much charm as a peeled potato. Schanke brought him over from a Lutheran hospital. Diffendefer was one of the three tattooed attackers from the Heights Club incident; the one who was able to speak. He said, "She's not my girlfriend, Mr. Skanky!" His voice sounded nasally and crusty.

"Just someone you've targeted to kill." Detective Nicholas Knight intercepted. "Isn't that what 'The Watchers' do?"

"That's what you call yourselves." Schanke said, daring Diffendefer to say otherwise.

Diffendefer stuck out his chin in witless defiance. "I'm a Sagittarius."

Knight whipped around the table. He jerked Diffendefer by the knot of his tie, who reacted by staggered to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" Schanke yelled at his partner.

Nicholas Knight glanced at Schanke then pushed the man back into his chair. He warned Diffendefer, "Pay attention! We have you on file." Nicholas snatched up the notebook and continues. "This belongs to me now. We'll find everyone with this symbol and this time you'll be history!"

The gray haired Diffendefer grimaced. "You're out of you damn mind!"

Knight witnessed a condescending smirk in his partner. "Reporters outside want to know about this corporate tattooed cult as much as we do." Schanke was bating Diffendefer. "They could match my pay check, but I'm above bribes. So what do you say? We can keep your secret."

Diffendefer was not so dense when he answered, "Give'r this." He held up the bandaged stump that was his right forearm.

"What's that?" Nicholas Knight frowned.

"This is me flipping off you smucks /and/ that Katrina MacLeod."

Schanke shrugged, "You're no fun."

Just before the detectives walked out of the interrogation room, Knight ordered an officer to take Diffendefer down to the cell floor.

Nicholas joined his partner in the corridor a few doors down. "Why haven't we run into these guys before?"

Schanke used his Hawaiian tie to wipe the perspiration from his brow. In the hallway, Schanke's face was careworn and fatigued. His eyes were dry. "We gotta wrap this up. I got two names, Palin Wolf and James Horton, both honchos affiliated with 'The Watchers'— You remember those men in black that followed us around since the case opened? Look! I swear to gawd they broke into my house. Only my den was trashed. And I'll bet my colon those punks that shot me, had the same tattoo!"

"This is too big Nick. They believe in some immortal fairytale crap enough to kill for it. And from the dates I've pulled up, they've been around for a long time, but-"

"But why now, if they'd been around for so long?" Nicholas asked if only to quell Schanke's sequence of thought.

Schanke slapped at Nicholas arm as he suddenly remembered something. "Did he say MacLeod? Let me show you something I read about the MacLeods."

The detectives shuffled back to the interrogation room to retrieve the notebook. Diffendefer was still there, hunched over the table. Pink fragments of his skull spread out in a bloody spray. The note book was gone. In its place, Knight found a police baton with a matted handle.

Both detectives scattered in to the office, but there was nothing out of context. Their co-workers proceeded without any idea of what just happened.

Schanke exclaimed at his partner. "The officer!" That said; he limped off to the cell floor not caring if Nicholas had followed.

'Secret societies,' Nicholas stood alone and concluded. 'These tattooed mongrels could be anywhere/or anyone./ They won't stop hunting, not after two hundred years, not inside a police station—or in a policeman's home! Damn them!'

Knight's '62 Cadillac started without a cough and arrived at his garage within clocking speed. At his loft, Nicholas practically slid the entrance door off its wheel track. "Katrina!" He was ready to fight-if he had to.

His living space was undisturbed.

"Nick!" Dr. Natalie Lambert stumbled out for the bathroom beyond the alcove under the stairs. "You just took ten years off my life! What the hell's going on?" She glowered at him.

"Where's Katrina?" Nicholas demanded to know.

Natalie, in casual cloths, raised a wet towel-ett to her forehead. "She's bringing me ice cream and a movie? Did I miss something?"

Nicholas made a second overview of his loft. "Has any one else been here?"

Natalie winced as she walked to the kitchen sink. "No, Nick. What's going on?"

Nicholas gave Natalie a look over. "Did you have this headache before or /after/ Katrina left?"

Natalie huffed. The wet towel-ett hid her gaze. "Does it matter?"

"I think it does." Nicholas hinted on Katrina's dubious behavior, but his voice was more endearing.

Natalie responded to it. Her face softened with flattery. The towel-ett sank away, now a hindrance to her. She stepped closer, searching him deeply for more hope to reflect her own.

Nicholas paused. The sigh of emotion in his chest pitched with regret. His eyes fell away from hers. He stepped back glancing around once again.

"No! Wait." Natalie wrenched a defeated plea.

"I wonder." Nicholas muttered to himself. Something caught his eye on his workman's table. It was out of place amidst the brushes, paints and sketches. Discarded plastic wraps sparked his memory.

Katrina's katana from "evidence" had arrived for closer examination. "Pour quoi Amje /non/ e'tonnant!" The katana was gone.

On the case claims label, a message was scribbled in black charcoal. 'If it's death he wants, then I'll assist him!'

Nicholas groaned. Gradually, as his case unfolded, he had lost control over it. Katrina had just added one more vexing gambit. He turned to Natalie. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and focused hard into her tired face. "Go home Natalie, and lock your door. Trust no one. I'll call you."

Nicholas left his loft and went back to his Cadillac.


	11. Soul Storm

Soul Storm

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

**Warning: **Sward fight with injury and intent to kill. Language. QUICKENING.

Nicholas drove through the Toronto streets without certain direction. Katrina said nothing to clue him on where she might be. Only by the note she left him, Katrina would face her old adversary. Now his frustration gave way to anxiety. He remembered Katrina telling him about the decapitation battle in this 'invisible war' of hers. Tonight she was meeting another of her kind knowing that only one will survive.

Various sounds of the city echoed into focus. He searched out with his nocturnal scenes, for any thing that might resemble her screams or even the emotional bond they shared. Anything to pull him to where she was.

By half inclination, the detective drove to the lakeside warehouse district. It was there that the clashing clangs of metal revived his search.

Nicholas leapt out of the driver's seat into flight above the warehouses.

The air was rank with briny lake foam mixing with axel grease. When the air shifted, he could smell blood and sweat: evident through his vampire awareness.

He found the two sword fighters. They dashed and dived at each other in and out of the lamp light of the empty pier. The dark haired man with a lean build was Juri Damir. That was the man who stomped out of St. Andrew's and fixed a menacing glare on him before he faded into the crowd.

Though Damir was leading the fight with his anger, she was quicker. Katrina kept out of reach while adding powerful strikes to tire him.

Nicholas watched with baffled fascination. Narrow saber duels died out more than a hundred years ago, this was a broad sword fight, harkening back to /his/ bygone days. They fought through a combination of styles that fused the old European foot soldier with Spanish fencing, and even Asian martial strategies that answered every attack and defense.

Damir made a faint strike. Katrina was grazed across the spine, but spun around behind him, stepping between his feet and kneeled into his right calf. Damir was pinned to the ground where he fell to his hands facing down.

"Walk away- be done!" She barked.

Damir growled. "I will finish this! Not you!"

The fight spilled into the tool factory. Nicholas followed them unnoticed from above. He then dashed under a foremen's desk, gun in hand. A flush of urgency rose within him. 'Why, in God's name am I / watching/ this.' He scorned himself.

Then it occurred to him in small voice from the recesses of his mind, (He that passing by vexith himself with strife belonging not to him is like one that grabs a mad dog by the ears as it goes by. Proverbs 26:17) 'Damn her rules'.

Katrina was fighting more aggressively. Her katana grazed Damir's lower spine and down his left buttock. Tit for tat. Katrina turned on her right foot into a ready stance, but Damir's blade found her midriff. Her blood spilled. She vomited without bile.

"There can be only o-"

Katrina struck at the right moment while Damir's sword was raised.

She yanked her katana from his stomach.

Damir stumbled back against an aluminum wall.

The pain climaxed in her face. She gagged as her midriff sealed.

Damir stood against the wall, clenching himself.

They watched. They breathed.

Katrina nodded at Damir. "Ready?"

Damir responded with a lunge and managed to deflect Katrina of her sword. He screamed, "Go to Hell!"

"Good bye, Juri," she cried.

Juri Damir struck again for Katrina's neck, but she had already dodged behind them with unnatural speed. She grabbed him by the hilt of his broad sword and turned him around. She followed Damir's momentum till he was disarmed. As she completed the turn she laid the fatal stroke to Damir's neck with his own sword.

Juri Damir headless body fell to the cement floor.

Nicholas exhaled. He could have collapsed with relief, but leapt out from under the desk and shouted, "We can't stay! The-" A ghostly form left the headless Russian and entered Katrina!

She jerked her head at Nicholas. Through chattering teeth, she groaned, "Get outside!"

Lights came on.

Pistons exhaled, somewhere in the factory. Near by, conveyors started up with a power boost. Hydraulic shafts screeched into motion. Press machinery pounded into operation.

Static electricity came together and snapped around Katrina. She gestured to ward off Nicholas, but the collection of molecules shook her arms and spine.

She grasped Damir's broad sword in both fists. Rolling electricity buckled her into a sword salute, her posture was not her own.

The factory flung into overdrive. Stray fingers of electricity channeled out of power conjunctions, blowing out fuse boxes. Their energy surged into Katrina. The sword conducted the surrounding charges back and forth.

Blue fire ripped through her body. His kindred anguished through her electrocution. Yellow eyed, her fangs lengthened in pain. Her screams edged with inhuman roars and plaintive cries.

At the peak of the storm, near windows exploded…

Friction in the conveyers spilled out sparks of fire…

The factory wired to its end. Katrina also waned with the machines energy…

It was nighttime again.

She fell to her knees and wearily gazed up at Nicholas.

She exhaled, then nodded an 'all clear.'


	12. Die a Little

Die a Little

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

Warning// will indicate the opening lyrics to "Newborn Friend" song by Seal (Sire Records and Time Warner Co.). M/F coupling: adult-detail addressed above the waist.

It was not a good victory. Yuri made sure of that. Katrina slid down the shower wall. She sobbed blood tears over crouched knees. It was all mediocrity, life after life, one just as before, murder and loneliness playing in the shadow of anger. No more thrill.

"No it isn't." Katrina disagreed with herself. 'I love Lucy's on my ring tone…I got frequent flyer miles credited to Fredrick of Hollywood… Damn it if I'm lonely it's because I'm in the mood… "Katrina"…Harley Davidson… Johnny.'

Juri's emotions were raw. Feelings of grief fought to surface again. He failed. He lost himself. He forgot to love life. 'Child, I could have helped you.' Katrina sobbed again, as her own emotions mimicked his remorse.

'No- not here'. She stood up; she rinsed her tears, breathed deep and took stock of Nicholas's bathroom. "You wanted to die, Juri."

Katrina felt Nicholas' watchful eye as she came down the stairs in his red embroided robe.

"I sent Natalie home," he announced. "Next time you hypnotize Dr. Lambert, remember I still value those brain cells of her's."

"Curve ball." She cooed. The Natalie girl was the least of her worries.

Katrina fingered through her wet hair, as she walked into Nicholas' kitchen. The refrigerator was stocked full of green wine bottles, all with thick looking liquors. She expected anything else in any other fridge. This /was/ Nicholas refrigerator after all. "Oh how clever!" She complimented him, and why she hadn't thought of it herself, she never knew.

"Have one," Nicholas offered.

"Cold? I'll pass, thank you."

Nicholas cleared his throat. His steady watch hadn't changed, but Katrina knew there were more questions to follow. "These men, these Watchers-"

"Were not a part of Juri's plan. Juri wanted me alone. Put that in your report detective."

Nicholas insisted, "Was Juri Damir /that/ determined to die?"

Katrina walked up to Nicholas. "He was all or nothing- do or die… it happens."

Nicholas folded his arms in his puzzled criticism. "So you're both judge and jury."

"And executioner. You see/ I wash my faith in dirty water. Cause it gives my mind a little order… And I play that game just like I should do/", then she sang to him/But my whole world slips away./" She held Nicholas around his chest.

Nicholas returned her embrace. "I'm serious, Katrina."

She kissed him warmly- his lips wanted more- "So am I… there's no right answers here- there never was."

Nicholas kissed Katrina with full intent. He kissed her mouth, her face and neck. He then squeezed her tightly, "You were always such trouble."

Katrina let go with a belly laugh. "Count me every time," she winked.

She turned to the couch, but Nicholas caught her waist in his arms from behind. Katrina felt the deeper meaning in his hold and sank against him. "What more can I say, Nicholas." She was afraid she was going to cry again.

His lips to her right ear, "Stay here tonight." Then he continued his mouth.

Variedly since the cop's lounge, she reminisced about the fine-looking green knight from her memory. The fervent desire of his stare returned to her thoughts. She smiled with the anticipation to play out the seduction of what he originally intended to do that night.

She was intrigued by the paradoxical spirit within him and loved him even then since that night six hundred years ago. It took Nicholas longer to feel that way about her. Then a pleasurable event happened between them during Lincoln's war. Perhaps that was when, Nicholas understood her.

They were embracing again. Nicholas carried on moving his mouth over her neck, shoulders and chest. He indulged the outer shape of her breasts before moving down to her stomach. Nicholas hesitated for a moment to examine her thunderbolt navel piercing. He chuckled and sighed.

They merged in the living room. He made love to Katrina in the practice and lust of a common man, but it was also of a desire that remembered- and would not soon forget.


End file.
